


Pretty Tied Up.

by psyleedee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Castiel As Catwoman, Castiel Wears Leather (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Live Together, Castiel/Dean Winchester BDSM, Cock Rings, Cock Worship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deepthroating, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Gags, Gay Sex, Gentle Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Hand Jobs, Leather Kink, Love, M/M, Mildly Feminized Castiel., Non-Penetrative Sex, Older Dean Winchester, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Rope Bondage, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut, Subspace, Vibrators, Younger Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyleedee/pseuds/psyleedee
Summary: The crack of a whip beating against the cold, concrete wall draws Dean's attention to it.Tied-up to the bed, with either hand tied to the the headboards, and his legs tied to the feet of the bed, completely naked; his cock hard, red andleaking, ready to be used and pleasured, and his mouth— gagged with a moderately sized ball-gag, Dean has nothing he can say or do as the leather of the whip beats against the walls once again. He can only watch.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 92





	Pretty Tied Up.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is my first attempt at BDSM, so go easy on me. That being said, I hope you enjoy :D.

The crack of a whip beating against the cold, concrete wall draws Dean's attention to it.

Tied-up to the bed, with either hand tied to the headboards, and his legs tied to the feet of the bed, completely naked; his cock hard, red and _leaking_ , ready to be used and pleasured, and his mouth— gagged with a moderately sized ball-gag, Dean has nothing he can do or say, as the leather of the whip cracks against the walls once again. He can only watch. Only marvel at whatever sight is to come.

_"I want to try a new scene today, Dean."_

_"What is it about?"_

_"Well, I wanted to tie you to the bed, gag you, and edge you."_

_"O-oh. Edging? We haven't done that before, have we, Cas?"_

_"Not really."_

_"Well, then let's do it."_

When Dean had agreed to try out a new scene with Castiel, his much younger boyfriend, but also his Dominant, he hadn't expected him to keep him waiting for so long. It's been half an hour already, and Dean has been lying here, tied, gagged, leaking.

Perhaps it is a part of Castiel's scene. Perhaps he's deliberately kept Dean suffering. Because he likes it.

But the crack of the whip signifies Castiel is finally here, and Dean's eyes wander to the door, eager and expecting his boyfriend to strut into the room, so they can begin the scene after all, but—

A gasp rolls off Dean's lips as he stares at the figure in front of him.

Clad in leather from shoulder to toe, black gloves and boots snug over his hands and feet, and with a pair of sharp, black cat-ears, paired with a shiny, black eye-mask, standing at the door with a bull-whip in his hands— is Castiel.

_Is he... is he Catwoman?_

Dean gives out a soft whimper as he feels his cock twitch, and leak out another thin stream of pre-come.

"Are you ready, big boy?"

The leather snaps again, the sound thrumming within Dean's nerves as its echo lingers through the room.

"Fuh—" Dean groans, voice muffled by the ball-gag, and on Castiel's face a slight smirk begins to give way, only enhancing Dean's arousal.

"Do you like what you see? I thought about this for days."

With one hand sensually stroking the hilt of the bull-whip, and the other twirling the thinner end of the whip around his finger, Castiel treads over to the bed, his black boots clacking against the floor with each step.

"You've always been such a good Sub for me, honey. I wanted to reward you. Even if it meant dressing up in this obnoxious leather suit. After all, you've always insisted on being Batman, only seemed fitting I play the part of your lover," he says, and Dean finds it hard to breathe with how breathtaking Castiel looks. An air of dominance, of assertion, of elegance, lingers around him as he struts with a sharp, precise gait— his narrow waist swaying from side to side, teasing Dean all-the-more. The world around them fades into nothing but white noise and all Dean can concentrate on is Castiel, with his black mask and ears, and his cold, cerulean blue eyes.

Once closer to the bed, Castiel leans down into Dean's proximity, grazing the leather of the bull-whip over his chest, causing Dean's nipples to perk up at the feather-light sensation, and Castiel grins.

"Do you like your reward?"

Dean lets out a muffled grunt in answer, prompting Castiel to tip his head back and chuckle, putting his thick, creamy neck on display, smooth and ready to be marked— tempting Dean to his wit's end, but he knows better than to disobey his Dom or act out of line.

"Are you ready to begin?" Castiel asks, as he sets his bull-whip away on the table next to them, where their supplies have already been laid out.

Dean nods, and feels Castiel drop a soft kiss on his head before pulling away to say, "-snap your fingers to alert me. I'll ask for signs after regular intervals. If anything is too much, let me know, alright?"

They have been over the rules and the guidelines about a million times now. Each time they do scenes, they make sure to check in with each other. And although Dean is used to it, the notion never fails to make him giddy. He nods his head, and snaps his fingers once, prompting a slight smile at Castiel's lips. His face is partially covered with the black-eye mask, and yet, Dean can envision how beautiful he looks underneath.

"I'm going to touch you now, and you don't get to come until I tell you to. I will be asking you as and when I feel you are close, and you must be truthful enough to tell me, alright? I trust you, Dean. Do you trust me?" Castiel asks, his leather-gloved hands grazing over the head of Dean's cock. Dean watches with eager eyes, teeth biting into the silicon ball-gag, as Castiel climbs onto the bed, settling between Dean's spread legs on his knees, and brushing his fingers over the tip of Dean's leaking cock.

The leather wraps around his length, and Dean gives out a soft groan, feeling Castiel's eyes dart up to study him.

"Since this is our first try at edging, you're allowed to make noise."

"Thas—" Dean lets out a muffled thanks, shutting his eyes and allowing his senses to narrow down into the feel of leather moulding against his cock. Deft fingers curl into a fist, and it glides up and down the length of Dean's cock, in slow, building strokes. It feels rough, owing to the lack of lube, but before Dean can ponder much upon the coarseness of the gloves, a new, different sensation engulfs his cock.

It takes him a single second to realise the sensation on his cock belongs to Castiel's mouth, and he braces himself for the moments to come. Castiel's expert tongue rolls around the head of Dean's cock, persistent but never imposing, allowing the pleasure to build with authenticity and not force. The slick, firm muscle melds against Dean's cock, curling around his cock in the spot where Castiel— _ah_ — knows just how sensitive Dean is. Under his frenulum, Castiel licks with feather-light licks, simply grazing the tip of his tongue over the supple skin, and with every passing wet touch, Dean feels the pressure inside him grow— nearing a climax he has been waiting for long now, and right when he furrows his eyebrows, the wetness on his cock vanishes, now replaced with gloved-hands.

"Are you close, Dean?" comes Castiel's hoarse, disused voice, and Dean gives a muffled groan. In place of the slick mouth, now a pair of skilled hands work around his cock, dropping down to massage his balls, heavy and tight, and Castiel's leathered thumb rolls one of his balls in his palm, cupping them in his fist before tugging at them ever-so-gently. His thumb and index finger press into the flesh, massaging Dean's balls, inch by inch, rising towards his cock, and as Castiel's hands stroke upward, Dean feels the edge of his orgasm approach— closer and closer every second—

 _Snap, snap, snap_.

Dean snaps his fingers, prompting Castiel's hands to vanish at once, and Dean groans, having been denied his urge to release, as he bucks his hips up, searching for some semblance of friction to rub against— to allow him to come and chase the release he much deeply craves— but it never comes, and he feels himself brush past the edge of an orgasm, only to fall back into the state of vacuity, where he feels empty and tense, the high of an orgasm never enveloping his senses, leaving him vexed and desperate.

"You can't come yet, Dean."

Since Dean has been allowed to make a noise, he voices his chagrin at having been denied an orgasm, groaning into the gag and knitting his eyebrows together.

"Patience, my love," Castiel says, his voice warm yet commanding, a contrast to Dean's incoherent moans. "-We take a one-minute break."

Dean manages to flutter his eyes open, and they settle on Castiel, who steps off the side of the bed, his taut, muscular arms stretching the leather of his black sleeves as he reaches for the bottle of water on the bedside table. Before long, the mouth of the bottle is touching Dean's lips, allowing a thin stream of water to slip into his mouth as a gloved hand pets his hair.

"Drink up, my love. You're going to need to be as hydrated as possible." Castiel's voice is assuring, and Dean allows Castiel to pour as much water as possible into his mouth before Castiel withdraws the bottle, caps it, and sets it on the bedside table. Thick fingers, smooth owing to the leather, run through Dean's sweaty hair and for the moment, he allows himself to focus simply on his breath— _in and out_ — before the fingers in his hair retreat.

"Shall we proceed, my love?"

Dean nods, snapping his fingers once to signal his agreement.

"Good boy," The affection in Castiel's words is heavy and prominent, and Dean feels a wave of pride wash over him at the sound of the praise. This is all he needs. _All he ever will_. To be a good boy for his Dom.

Now conscious, Dean watches as Castiel steps off the bed and reassumes his position between Dean's spread and tied legs. His hands drape over Dean's flaccid cock, fingers grazing down the length, curling around the tip, hands squeezing into a tight fist as they stroke Dean's cock gradually into an erection, all the while, Dean rolls his eyes back, biting into the gag and letting out muffled groans.

Castiel's gloved fingers tickle at the base of his cock, between the supple, loose skin near his testicles, and over the taut, round balls he twists at. Each touch sends a flittering spark coursing through Dean's nerves, every sensation amplified, every touch intense, and Castiel's hands, magical as they are, work Dean towards a slow_building pleasure. Fingers curling around the length, dipping down to swipe over the slit, massaging the head with both thumbs in firm presses, not simply pumping— _but fondling, caressing, stroking_ — Dean's cock twitches under every ministration, and he's sure his cock is purple now, with the amount of restraint he possesses, and the amount of pleasure Castiel keeps on providing.

It builds with ease at first, languid pressure flowing into Dean's groin— consider a sea, with its waves rising, and rising, and rising— little, by little, by little— the way the sea exists for the sole purpose of flooding the shore, nothing else— the same way Dean's orgasm approaches, slow and pleasing at first until it picks up pace, and now the waves in Dean's mind are high, destructive, fast— they make their way to the shore, faster and faster— and _ah—_

The hands on Dean's cock retreat, leaving Dean to groan out loud and obscene and desperate— into the gag— as he bucks his hips up, unable to thrust up high with the ropes at his feet, and he feels his chest spasm with pants and gasps— mind returning to a state of vacuity as he crashes back down on the bed, dejected and deprived of his pleasure— and compared to his earlier attempt, this denial crashes down on his chest like a boulder, heavy and distinct, much more intense than it did before.

"It hasn't been long, and already I can feel when you're close. Do you realise how loud you've been?" In the distance, Dean can distinguish the sound of a dark chuckle, and though in his mind, he knows it belongs to Castiel, with his eyes shut, he can comprehend nothing but white light and a heavy, palpable ringing in his ears.

Something is pressed to his lips, and faintly, Dean discerns it as a water bottle. Soon enough, the cold, soothing liquid sloshes down his throat, and it helps him calm his breathing. His once spasming chest now heaves in slow breaths, and his eyes— once squeezed tightly shut, flutter open and refocus on Castiel, whose youthful face is still adorned with the black eye-mask.

"Are you alright? Snap your fingers once for yes, twice for no."

 _Snap_.

"Do you want to stop?"

_Snap, snap._

"Do you need anything besides water?"

_Snap, snap._

"Do you want to proceed after a short break?"

_Snap._

"Alright. I love you. You're doing beautifully, Dean." Castiel's hoarse voice is closer to Dean's ear now, and his breath warmer against Dean's face. Dean basks in his Dom's approval, a slight smile twitching at his lips. His joy, however, lasts a single second, overtaken by confusion as he watches Castiel walk over to the bedside table, and rummage through some items. With Dean's view obstructed, he can't see much but then Castiel turns, and held in his hand is a smooth, black silicone ring.

Dean's cock perks up at the sight of the cock-ring.

"Are you alright with using this?" Castiel asks as he treads back over to the bed, and runs his hand through Dean's hair.

Dean snaps once.

"And are you sure?"

Dean snaps once again.

"You will tell me if anything is too much, yes?"

Another snap.

A smile tugs at Castiel's face as he grabs a handful of Dean's hair, and gives it a rough yank, causing Dean to hiss and his cock to twitch.

"That's my good boy." Castiel's eyebrow raises, the way it always does when he's impressed by Dean, indescribably angry, or at the most— heavily, irrevocably aroused. The fingers in Dean's hair slip away, and he keens for the touch only to be met with Castiel's sharp gaze, fierce even when part of his expressions are hidden away by the mask.

Without another word, Castiel walks towards the bed, leaning over the edge as he rolls the cock-ring down Dean's cock, his fingers brushing against the sensitive spot over Dean's frenulum, prompting Dean's cock to twitch.

"Ah, ah, ah," Castiel laughs, wrapping his hand around the length once the cock is fit tight over Dean's cock, "-you come when I let you. If you go against me Dean, you will receive your punishment. Is that clear?"

Dean snaps once.

His eyes long to remain fixated at the sight of Castiel's smile, but the first foreign touch to his cock has his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

The cock-ring seems to tighten around his cock, as if sucking away every last drop of blood out of his cock, yet challenging the length to remain firm. It excites Dean, having the ring fit around his base, to feel his cock twitch with desperation, to be denied, to be deprived, to be neglected— he knows when he is finally allowed to climax, that is _if_ his Dom allows him to, it will be mighty— greater than any orgasm he has had before.

Once again, Dean expects Castiel's fingers to wrap around his cock, however, the sensation engulfing his cock belongs not to a set of fingers, but to Castiel's mouth— _no_ , not even his mouth— his throat.

At once, Dean flutters his eyes open, only to find Castiel kneeling between his spread legs, his hips raised up high in the air as his mouth engulfs Dean's cock, sucking him in until the head of Dean's cock touches the supple, damp flesh at the back of Castiel's throat. From underneath him, Castiel glances up at Dean, his cold cerulean eyes sending a chill down Dean's spine.

Not a moment passes, however, before Castiel is pulling away, his spit-slick lips parted and dripping with a string of pre-come as he rises and steps off the bed. Dean watches, with a hawk-like gaze, as Castiel strides over to their drawer of toys, and fishes something out, something Dean can't see yet. But when Castiel turns around, Dean catches the object held in his hand— a thin, black, bullet vibrator.

"I never said I was going to make this easy on you." Castiel returns to the bed, and Dean watches, still about halfway conscious as his eyes track the movement of Castiel's hands with the vibrator.

"Snap your fingers if you can't bear it."

Dean nods once and watches as the vibrator buzzes to life, and Castiel sets it at a moderate pace, leaning over Dean again to press the vibrator to the tip of his cock, right between the slit. A loud gasp slips past Dean's lips as the vibrator thrums over his skin, sending its spark jostling through Dean's nerves, and he pulls at the ropes around his wrist, toes curling in their bonds as Castiel's gloved fingers stroke the length of his cock, the other hand rolling the vibrator over the throbbing, purple head, as he guides his fingers into a slow, lazy drag over Dean's cock.

A minute later, Castiel's hand is replaced with his mouth, and the sensation magnifies with an indescribable intensity, prompting Dean's eyes to roll back and his mouth to fall open. As Castiel's mouth works at his length, paired with the constant stimulation of the vibrator, Dean feels tears run down his face with the amount of restraint he tries to gain over his orgasm. His thighs tremble, his heartbeat intensifies, his breaths quicken and his teeth dig into the silicone gag as he lets out a guttural groan, one that resounds within the room— or perhaps, it is his own senses that cause him to hear the groan as an echo, given how amplified they've become; sensitive to each light touch.

In Dean's mind, he sees nothing but a canvas of white. However, a grey shadow seems to be falling upon the expanse of white with every passing second, and Dean recognises the shadow as the feeling of an orgasm, growing wider and greater with every second— and yet— something holds it back. Something keeps the shadow from sheathing the expanse of white, the same way it keeps his orgasm from reaching its peak. His cock is a slave to the something that keeps him from releasing, from the something that deprives him of his orgasm, and he vaguely recalls the cock-ring snug around the base of his cock.

Chasing after the need to release, Dean thrusts his hips into the air, yanking at the ropes around his wrist, groaning and biting into the ball-gag—

"Do you think you've been a good boy?" Castiel asks, his steady voice a contrast to Dean's mindless gibberish. At that moment, Dean realises, with Castiel having complete control over each twitch of his body, he feels _vulnerable_ — bare in a sense he has never felt before, never been before. He trusts Castiel, he does. And so, he hands over all of his virtual freedom to Castiel, to his Dom.

"I asked you a question."

The pace of the vibrator increases and as good as Dean wants to be for his Dom, he can't help but mumble into the gag, something incoherent and garbled, as he bucks his hips up, his body's primal instinct to seek friction driving him to thrust up into nothing- into the empty air.

"Dean." Castiel's voice is sharper now, more demanding, and it pierces through the veils of Dean's consciousness, enough to prompt Dean to snap his fingers over and over again until he can't tell his thumb apart from his finger. Fingers work at his cock, and at once, the pressure that had been holding Dean away from his orgasm has vanished, the thrumming at his skin has vanished— his urges have been unleashed, and the shadow threatening to overtake the expanse of white in front of his eyes crashes through his conscious, leaving him at disposal of a command, his cock purple and throbbing, ready to—

"You may come."

Three words of approval are all it takes for Dean to slip into a state of pure vacuity— pure mindlessness, as the pressure inside him _explodes_ — like a ticking timebomb— and Dean's hips fly up into the air as he comes.

Every sense inside him, every nerve, every fibre, every single inch of his being seems to float in a void— his body lighter and his mind hollow— as he feels in his distant consciousness, the thwack of a fluid slapping against his thigh.

Dean expects his orgasm to come to an end, but against his own volition, his body existing with thoughts of its own, the release continues, and with every other second he lets out a stream of come, his body feels lighter, more in tune with his mind than it has ever been before— a pure feeling of euphoria grasps the entirety of his being, and at last, his orgasm comes to a declining end, with Castiel's fingers milking his cock for every last drop.

The bed dips, movement rustles around the room— Dean cannot find it in himself to open his eyes and return to the present, at least not for the time being. The ropes at his feet are being untied, and he allows his legs to squeeze tighter as if they were magnets held apart from each other all this while. Muffled footsteps resound against the floor, and then the ropes at his wrists are being untied. His hands fall to his side, a faint sore thrumming under his arms as he curls up into a ball on the bed.

"Dean," A voice calls out from away, and Dean registers it abstractedly as an assurance, "-Dean, come back to me, please."

A gentle but persistent hand shakes him by the shoulder, and at last, Dean allows his eyes to slip open. His eyes blur with tears at the sharp onslaught of light, but then a face comes into his focus, a face he knows, a face he _loves_.

"Cas," he breathes out, broken and pleading. Something brushes against his lips, something hard and cold, before a stream of water is sloshing down his throat, and slender fingers run through his hair.

"Dean, it's all over now, honey, come back to me now, please?"

The water feels magical when it slides down his throat, and Dean, even with his body now a puddle, manages to hoist himself up. His back slumps against the headboard, and his mind feels heavy, drowsy, somewhat dizzy as he feels Castiel's gentle fingers scratch behind his ear and over his head.

"You were so good for me baby, so, so good. I love you so much. You're alright now, honey, here—" Something sweet and sticky pushes against Dean's lips, and he flutters his eyes open in time to catch the piece of Hershey's chocolate slip past his lips. He allows it to settle against his tongue before chewing it and swallowing it down. His hands reach out to seek Castiel's warmth, but it moves away, only for another, thicker warmth— that of a blanket— to be draped over him. He curls within the blanket, once again reaching out for Castiel's warmth, and this time, he receives it. Castiel's body melds against his own as a litany of praises rolls of Castiel's lips, all along the lines of ' _you were so good for me'_ and 'e _verything is alright now'_.

Dean drapes his hand over Castiel's waist, gazing up at Castiel's face now devoid of the mask— both the black, cat one, as well as the one he dons when assuming his Dominant role— his cat-ears have vanished as well, and now, he's only Cas. Dean's beautiful, childish, young _Cas_.

"Cas," Dean breathes out, and snuggles into Castiel's chest, squeezing him in his arms and breathing in his calming scent. Castiel's hands drape around his torso, holding him in place securely, much to Dean's relief.

"I love you, I love you so much. You were beautiful, my love. So good for your Dom, so obedient."

Soft kisses press over Dean's forehead, and Dean flutters his eyes open to gaze into Castiel's.

"Was I too harsh?" Castiel asks, his voice soft, somewhat alarmed.

"Not at all, baby, you were great. I wanna' do it again someday." Dean sighs, a smile pulling at his lips as he reaches up to press his lips to Castiel's in a tender, reaffirming kiss. Castiel allows Dean to guide him through the kiss, no urgency, no haste, no rush— only a series of unspoken reassurances as Dean pulls Castiel against his chest.

"You looked really hot as Catwoman," Dean says, breaking the kiss and the silence between them. Castiel simply chuckles.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Dean gazes up at Castiel, reaching up for another selfish kiss as Castiel moans lowly, pulling away a few seconds later to stretch his arms out.

"Let's order some pizza, man, I am starving."

Castiel's eyes crinkle as a wide smile spreads across his face.

"Anything for you, my dear."

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a kudos and a comment, remember, that's the only motivation for Fic Writers! ✨
> 
> Also, thanks to @Elise_Winchester, who so perfectly reminded me that Dean was indeed, Batman 😅 and also helped me with some doubts! Much love to you honey! 🥰  
> Lastly, if anyone has any info or feedback, text me on Tumblr @psyleedee! I'd love to know this concept better.


End file.
